Skin Deep
by dementeddarling
Summary: The story of Rosalie Hale, beginning with the fateful trip to the bank when she first attracts Royce King Jr.'s attention. Her perspective on her human life and eventually her transformation and life among the Cullens.
1. Sometimes change comes in a vase

I was sitting on the comfortably padded stool in front of my mirror when my Mother came bustling into my room. "Rosalie, darling, your father forgot his lunch, would you run it over to the bank for him?" I glanced up at her in the mirror, eyes reluctant to lose sight of their glass twins. "All right, let me just find my shoes, I think the tan leather pumps would be perfect for this shade of yellow," I said, indicating my blouse. To my surprise Mother immediately began shaking her head. "Well the boots would be simply atrocious!" I exclaimed, not seeing how she could possibly disagree with what I had deemed a perfectly suitable wardrobe choice. She did not even answer, just slid open the door to my closet; but instead of examining the carefully organized shoes she was rifling through the dresses, right to the back where the nicest ones remained until the most special of occasions. When she pulled out the white organza gown, and it was certainly a gown rather than a dress, I was shocked.

"Oh, Mother!" I gasped, "That was my birthday present from Father, can I really wear it just to go to the bank?" I gently took the dress from her fingers, holding it to my shoulders and spinning a quick pirouette just to watch the fabric swirl. When my eyes came back to Mother's, her mouth was pressed tight.

"Sit down." She said brusquely, opening a drawer and pulling out a handful of hairpins. I dutifully sat on the stool in front of the mirror as Mother began rolling and tucking my golden curls, and when I was sure she wasn't looking I evaluated the effect of different facial expressions. When I tired of that, for I had already contemplated the allure of each expression hundreds of times, I asked Mother "Why am I getting so dressed up just to take Father his lunch?"

I might have imagined it, but I would have sworn a dull blush accompanied the pause before she responded. "It will be such a nice surprise for him to see you looking so lovely, dear. You know how he likes to show you off to his friends." She was absolutely right, how could I not have guessed myself. I was always on display, a triumph for my parents because of my beauty. That suited me just fine.

When Mother finally finished the painful process of confining all of my hair I slipped on my lightest white slippers and skipped out the door with Father's lunch.

The walk to the bank was short, sunny, and pleasant. I tilted up my face to the Tiffany's-box blue sky, just enjoying the warmth of the sun and people's stares, and people were definitely staring, they always did. I soaked it up like a sponge as I hurried on my way. Inside the bank was little different, the men in the bank paired greetings with their appraisals, but I could almost feel the weight of eyes lingering on my retreating back as I made my way to Father's desk and deposited his lunch. It was a quick visit, and as I departed I waved charmingly at my father's friends and smiled broadly, already making plans for my next stop.

My best friend Vera's house was a mere six blocks down the road from the house, but those six blocks made a world of difference. Vera's new house was little more than a cottage, though she herself simply said it was "snug". When I saw the whitewashed façade and bright yellow trim I felt a familiar cocktail of feelings: pity, pride in my own lovely home, and some tiny stirring that I have never been able to really identify, something that for some reason made me think of something deep and unknown. I quickly brushed aside the unnecessary ponderings and knocked smartly on the door. It opened with in seconds.

"Rose! You look marvelous! More beautiful even then usual!" Vera bubbled as she took in my dress. This is why I love Vera, the exact ratio of admiration and envy she always provides; and the fact that she is happy enough with her own life not to be too bitter. Also we have a balance, as I remembered when we went into her dollhouse sized sitting room and her adorable little boy Gerald toddled in, all dark curls and smiles. My heart literally gave a painful lurch as I watched Vera snag him under her arm and cover him in kisses. I waited impatiently for her to set him just so I could snatch him up again and cuddle him in my lap, listening to his gurgles with awe.

"Oh Vera, he is the most darling thing I have ever seen, I wish I could just take him home with me!" The words were said in jest, but at the same time we both knew I was sincere. Vera laughed lightly, "He's the joy of my life, but if you don't watch out he is going to just ruin that pretty dress. Why don't you just let him run around, he does so love to walk now that he's learned." As much as I hated to admit it Vera was right, and after one final extra-tight squeeze I left little Gerald to his own devices.

"So what brings me the joy of your company today Rose?" Asked Vera pleasantly.

"Well, Mother wanted me to drop of Daddy's lunch at the bank and since I was already out and about I thought I would drop in on my favorite person." I didn't mention that I felt that this dress deserved to go somewhere where it would actually be appreciated.

Vera let out a sigh before she responded, "Oh I wish I could where dresses like that just to go about my everyday business, instead I am stuck in old things like this. This silhouette is practically ancient too." As I took in Vera's deep blue blouse and unfashionably full skirt I had to agree, but of course it was not my place to say so.

"So the skirt is a little on the passé, but that color is fantastic on you Vera. It looks so good with your dark hair." I mentally congratulated myself on pairing my criticism with such a nice truth.

Vera quickly did me one better, "Thank you, Rose. And I suppose it is more practical, I mean nice dresses are all well and good when you are just running around having fun, but I have to take care of Gerald and Tom."

Oh, she was good. To anyone else it would have sounded like she envied me, which of course she did, but she also managed to take a dig at the fact that I didn't have the baby I so desperately wanted. I loved talking to Vera; it was like mental exercise.

Formalities aside we chatted amiably for a while about general gossip and time passed more rapidly than I thought, before I knew it I heard the door opening and Tom's booming voice came into the room like a physical presence. "Daddy's home! Where's my little man?"

I watched Gerald teeter toward the front door as fast as his chubby little legs would carry him and saw Vera's face light up like a lamp.

"I hadn't realized it had gotten so late! I had better get home Vera, thanks for letting me come by, I'll see you soon!" My words came out in a rush as I hurriedly stood and headed for the door. I had a foot out the door when I heard Vera, "Rose," she began, but the rest of her sentence was drowned out by a throaty giggle at something Tom had murmured, I quickly shut the door and hurried down the darkening street, fleeing the tangible happiness of the snug little house and drowning in my own oppressive loneliness.

When I got there the flowers were waiting, a dozen red roses. The card read: "To the prettiest Rose of all. Royce King Jr."

Hope had returned, everything was about to change. My dreams were coming true.

Author's Note:

Obviously I am not Stephanie Meyer and don't own anything you recognize from Twilight, you know the drill. Anyway, this is just my take on Rosalie's back-story, which we get a glimpse of in Eclipse. Thanks so much for reading, please review!!


	2. Formally Acquainted

Author's Note:

Ok, so here goes Chapter two (a very short chapter), which I would like to dedicate to Lostlova815 who kept my authorly self-esteem from going into a death spiral after the first chapter. Please follow Lostlova's example and review if you like the story, its good karma!

Mother was able to wait an entire day before sending me to the bank again, though if she hadn't been afraid of appearing overeager I think she would have sent me right to the King's doorstep with a bow and a note the moment we received the flowers. When Father conveniently forgot his lunch a second time, which made me realize the probable orchestration of the first time (I had to give Mother credit, the woman was shrewd), I was bundled into a slim fitting dusky pink suit and practically shoved out the door. I guess Mother wanted to prove that I had the ability to dress suitably for everyday occasions. At least this time I knew what all the fuss was about.

When I arrived at the bank I pinned a demure smile on my face and made sure to walk extra slowly to Daddy's desk, widening my grin when I recognized people. It practically second nature now, I had been trained to perform as surely as any man getting ready for a job. When I finally reached Father's desk I bent down to kiss him on the cheek, and seeing an opportunity I whispered, "Which one is Royce?"

As I slowly straightened up Father mouthed, "Tall, young, blond; he's headed right this way." After he finished I gave a very feminine (and entirely fake) laugh to cover up any indication of what we had been discussing, Father slanted his eyes up at me for a moment, but we both knew that I was better at this game than he was. I was still looking meaningfully at my father when I heard the smooth, authoritative voice, "Jonas, how are those loan documents coming along?" I didn't have to turn around to know who it would be, but I did anyway.

Father did not do Royce King justice in his brief description. the smile that lit on my face when are eyes met was the first thing I hadn't had to feign since walking out of my own front door. Royce King Jr. was probably around 25 or so, and a head taller than my already impressive 5 foot 8. His hair shone like gilt and his eyes were a very light, very bright blue. I was ashamed to feel blood in my cheeks as I realized how close he was to me. I leaned back against the desk, lowering my lashes for a moment just as I had learned to do whenever I thought my eyes my betray me. A man like Royce King did not need to see any girlish fluttering on my face. When I had all of my feelings well in hand, I tilted my head back to look at his face.

During this short, silent interaction Father had scrambled out from behind his desk and was now standing next to us. "Mr. King," his voice oozed respect, "I'd like to present my daughter, Rosalie Hale."

I daintily held out my hand for him to shake, but to my delight he lifted it to his lips, then looked up and uttered, "How nice to be formally acquainted, Miss Hale." How nice indeed! He gently released my hand and turned to fully face my father, "Jonas, would it be too much trouble for me to call on Miss Rosalie next week?" I honestly thought Father's face might split right in half to accommodate his large grin. Honestly, did he have no discretion? Had Mother been there she would have quickly pulled him aside to remind him of playing some things close to the vest. Father had never been as good a student at Mother's subtle arts as I had, which she frequently reminded us both. "Why, that would be no trouble at all, Mr. King, we would be delighted to have you wouldn't we Rosalie?"

In an attempt to remedy my Father's obvious exuberance, I gave a slight nod over my shoulder as I sauntered back towards the door, chin up, shoulders back, spine ramrod straight.


	3. The Invitation

The next week was an experiment in human tolerance, just how long could I last before I suffocated as the air in our house was used up by my frenzied mother. As soon as news of an impending visit reached her highly attuned ears I was put under house arrest; there was not even the smallest chance that my mother was going to risk my being out when Royce deigned to arrive.

Every morning I was woken up, fed a token amount of breakfast, and stuffed into the same delightful dress, though by the third day or so I was growing disenchanted despite its darling pink plaid. After I was poked, prodded, and generally harassed into a state of presentability, I was placed on the settee in the drawing room that drew the best light and commanded to stay there. Occasionally I was allowed to play on my piano, since that would demonstrate the fact that I was accomplished, but besides that I might as well have been in manacles. To make matters worse as I was sitting as still as a very bored statue, Mother was rushing around like some kind of dervish: cleaning, dusting, and polishing any visible surface. It was enough to make a girls head spin.

There was, however, one thing that almost made up for the sitting and the constant criticisms fired off by my mother like machine gun shells. Every night Father would bring home some delicious morsel to serve our potential esteemed guest, simply to show of our hard earned affluence, and every night that Royce didn't show up I was allowed slightly more than my usual allotment of dinner as both a reward and a bribe of sorts. The good food was delightful, but the rest was dreadful.

Possibly the worst part of the entire ordeal was that had anyone bothered to ask me, I could have told them that Royce would not call immediately. It was not that I didn't have faith in my particular charms, au contraire, I was confident that I had made quite an impression, but that I recognized in Royce someone who, like myself, knew how to play the game. Just as Mother had not wanted to appear overeager in sending me back to the bank, Royce would not want to show his hand, so to speak, by being over-enthusiastic. My parents might have been too obtuse to realize what he was doing, but every night new roses came and I knew I had nothing to worry about.

The agony finally came to an end on Thursday night with a brisk knock; the roses came with a bonus of Royce himself that night. Mother was the one who answered the door and I sat up straighter on the settee when I heard his voice, arranging my face into pleased, but simultaneously disinterested, surprise. I listened carefully to their exchange, evaluating his greeting.

"Mrs. Hale, I assume? I'm Royce King; I believe you were expecting my call? Well I can certainly see that your daughter comes by her beauty naturally. I brought flowers." He exuded charm and confidence, I could tell even from a room away.

When she responded Mother's voice was a little bit breathy, and I couldn't tell if it was simply to further her agenda or if she was genuinely flattered. Maybe it was both. Within moments she was leading him into the sitting room where I patiently waited.

Royce strutted into the room, there was no other word for it, and sat down directly across from me; I think it was because there he had the best view. "Hello, Miss Hale, how nice to see you again." It was a quite conventional thing to say, but his voice gave the simple salutation increased charm. It was just so very polished!

"Its lovely to see you as well Mr. King, I do hope you will be joining us for dinner." I said in a low voice, I had a distinct feeling that men like Royce liked their women more on the submissive side. Thankfully I had a carefully polished veneer of demureness.

"Why, I would be delighted to Miss Hale," he replied promptly. It was as if we were operating off of a script, which for all intents and purposes we were. During dinner comments were kept bland and objective, my father and mother did far more talking then I did myself, and I ate the correct bird-like portions that distinguish a well off lady from a street urchin. My brothers were dismissed as soon as possible to eliminate any opportunity for them to assault the carefully maintained gentility of the evening and my mother kept all of her snide little comments internalized. All in all it was the same dinner I had had many times with many men, but they could now be viewed as simply practice for tonight, the main event. I preformed admirably, as did everyone at the table, and careful preparations came to fruition as we were bidding Royce a gracious adieu in the foyer. He was halfway out the front door when he turned back and addressed me, "Miss Hale, I would be much obliged if you would allow me to escort you to a little party my family is hosting at our home next Friday."

It was an immense struggle not to give a victorious smirk, but I managed to convert it to a decidedly less expressive pleased smile. "That sounds simply lovely Mr. King, I look forward to it."

After elaborating on the details for a moment he excused himself and faded into the night. I made sure he was out of earshot of out house before I finally allowed my exuberant laugh to bubble up in my throat, Mother didn't even scold me. A party at the King's, the crown of Rochester society, we could hardly have asked for a more stunning success; I knew I would be at a fitting for a new dress in less than 24 hours. That night I kissed my reflection before going to bed

A/N- To those splendid people who have been waiting for an update, I sincerely apologize for taking so long. I just have only just finished being soundly abused by finals and had to regain my mental faculties before I could write anymore. Anyways, I hope you have enjoyed this chapter, and please review because I am considering dropping this fic in favor of a marauders story that is currently in its embryonic stages in my brain. Thanks readers!


	4. Soiree

I had time for one short visit to Vera before the party, and I had to tell her everything that had happened since our last chat. I dressed in my favorite yellow skirt and left my hair tumbling down my back, glad that there was somewhere where I didn't have to always be so perfectly prepped and coifed. I was also buoyed by the hope that today her envy might just outweigh mine.

When Vera opened the door she immediately chided me, "Rose! It's been too long, where have you been? You know how dull my life is without you to liven it up!" Rather than being annoyed at the accusation of abandonment I was pleased that she had missed my company, she didn't just see me as an asset like my family did. "Oh Vera, you know I would rather be here than practically anywhere else, but don't worry, what I have to tell you is going to make up for my extended absence."

She held up a finger to make me pause, "Let me put Gerald down for his nap, I don't want any interruptions." Before she could snatch him up and hide him away though, I grabbed him by his soft little waist and pulled him close, inhaling his warm baby smell and snuggling him to my face. He started to squirm after a few moments and I surrendered him to his doting mother, but I appreciated the borrowed moment nonetheless. Oh how I wanted a beautiful baby of my own!

When Vera returned she made herself comfortable on the footstool next to my chair and leaned forward, dark eyes sparkling, ready to live vicariously through me. It was our system. After I explained everything that had gone on with Royce, finishing with his invitation to the party, Vera sat speechless for a moment. I waited patiently and was soon rewarded as she began to gush, "Oh_, Rose_, this is marvelous! We've always known you were meant for something great! Oh my, a party at the King's! Think of all the people that will be there. The Reeds will be there for sure, though Leah is far plainer than they would like to admit. Probably the Marlburgs, with that simple son of theirs, what's his name again? Tad? Todd? Its something like that. Well, no matter. The point is everyone who's anyone will be there and so will you! Do you think those Cullens will be there?"

"Who?" I said unconcernedly. I hadn't heard about them so surely they were no one important, and certainly no competition.

"You know, that blond doctor, his wife, and her brother. They are all absolutely stunning, especially the men. They might even be able to give you a run for your money, Rose," she finished with a knowing giggle.

"I haven't seen them, but I will surely keep an eye out for such very ravishing beings in the future; though since I haven't seen them they must not travel in good society," I replied coldly. Better looking than me? _Men_ that were better looking than me? That simply couldn't be right, maybe Vera was just teasing me.

Unwilling to arouse my further displeasure Vera dropped the topic, "I do wish I were you, you know you must tell me ever little inconsequential detail afterwards don't you?"

On the whole, I left Vera's pretty well satisfied with her response, though I was resolved to really look for the Cullens just to reassure myself that Vera had been wrong. It would just not do to be overshadowed by a couple of society-less men.

Waiting for Friday night after that was extremely disagreeable. I was kept physically occupied, but, as it so often was, my mind was free to wander. There was nothing to distract me from the agonizing anticipation. Finally, though I was beginning to think it would never happen, Friday evening came and I slipped into my prized navy, backless evening gown. It a piece of art, and I was not ashamed to admit that I was the perfect frame. When I was ready even Mother could not find a single thing to denounce or tweak.

When Royce arrived at the door Father ushered him in, chattering amiably. When he came around the corner I rose slowly, concentrating on being particularly fluid to demonstrate the silk to its fullest advantage, and gave him a conspiratorial smile. His eyes widened ever so slightly and he smiled fatly in return. Success.

"Miss Hale, are you ready to go?" He asked, presenting the customary roses. I took them daintily and buried my nose in them for a moment before handing them off to my mother. "Yes, thank you," I replied softly. He gallantly offered his arm, which I took, and we departed. As soon as we cleared the door I said quietly, "And please, call me Rose." He had invited me to this party after all; I might as well throw him a bone. He nodded graciously as he helped me into his very car, but did not reciprocate the invitation. I won't deny that I was a tiny bit put out about that.

He drove quickly through the muted streets and we were pulling into his circular driveway and he was effortlessly tossing the keys to a valet, not even making sure they were securely grasped before he turned away. It was all exceedingly elegant, I could imagine myself doing the same thing, maybe bringing in the shopping or something. Maybe I would even have a driver…for a moment I was lost in plans and fantasies, but I was getting ahead of myself. In the car we had hardly spoken, I knew next to nothing about Royce even though in my opinion he could now be classified as a suitor. It was rather odd, usually men were just bursting to talk around me. I was impressed by his self-possession.

As we walked into a grand entrance hall complete with marbled floor and curving staircase I could not suppress a tiny gasp, nor did I try to. Royce looked at me with a hint of smugness, but said nothing. Before I had much time to further observe our surroundings Royce whisked me into a large dining room, presenting me to every loitering person we encountered. Every encounter was almost exactly the same, with only the most minute differences. Royce would saunter up to the a group of people with a firm grip on my elbow and proclaim, "Good evening, so and so. So nice to see you, and how is such and such? May I present Miss Rosalie Hale?" They would practically bow and scrape, "Oh, Mr. King, we are so glad to be here, blah blah blah, Oh Miss Hale, you are just so lovely, so beautiful, so perfectly pretty." I wish I could say that their words dulled with repetition, that their ulterior motives rendered their words valueless, but that wasn't the case. Every time the complements poured forth I felt my glow get a little brighter, a little happier. The evening was off to a glorious start.

Dinner at the ornate table was not as pleasant; I was separated from Royce, placed between two other young men. I had to keep them entertained while not flirting outrageously enough to attract Royce's attention and risk his displeasure. For many it would have been a near impossible task, but I soon hit my stride by effectively turning off my brain. I asked questions after every inane story they related, and kept up an admirable façade of rapt attention despite the fact that I could pretty much feel my intelligence evaporating. Still, at least it wasn't women.

The best part of the evening was most definitely the dancing. The Kings had a bona fide ballroom and a string quartet, and I was the night's in-demand partner. At first I expected Royce to cling to me for the entire night, I was certainly used to being jealously guarded. However, he surprised me again, I was passed from hand to hand, circulating through the most influential people at the party. Royce did not claim me again until the very last dance. He was a very correct dancer, though he did not hold me as close as some, and I thought I could see a gleam of approval in his eyes. The last thing he said before the music and the party drew to a close was, "Your eyes look are just the color of violets." At the door to my house I said, "Goodnight Royce, thank you for a lovely evening." He didn't object, so much for that silly excessive pride. The next night when the roses came, they were mixed in with violets.

Author's Note: Thank you, thank you, thank you reviewers, I lurve you bunches and bunches. You guys make it all worthwhile, so please keep it up. So this chapter ended up like light-years longer than I had planned, but I really hope you enjoyed it. I think I am going to keep this fic going at least a little longer, I've gotten very attached to dear Rosalie and at least want to make it through her transformation. REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW!!


	5. Proposal

My impromptu trip to the bank might have wedged my foot in the door to Royce King Jr., but that first party gave it a hearty shove. Apparently I had been a success, because Royce called on me more and more frequently after that. Every big social event that occurred in Rochester featured Royce and I making the rounds, me making delightful and charming small talk punctuated by Royce's proud wit. I was introduced to both men and women of all ages, and I can honestly say I was a raving success with the men. The women were jealous and bitter, but I was used to that. Better yet, their jealously served only to further inflate our position.

During all the time we were spending together I tried to learn more about Royce. It was harder than I would have imagined. In my own experience men typically thought that the best way to really ensnare a woman was to talk for as long as their lungs would allow and to try to physically draw in the woman with some stolen kisses and such along the way, demonstrate their masculinity and such. Royce did none of that, and I felt thoroughly wrong-footed.

For one thing we were almost never alone. Sure, there was party after party and occasionally there would be smaller get-togethers with just our families or close friends, but after more than a month of courtship I worked out that we had truly been alone for less than a couple of hours total; and most of that was driving. This also meant that there was almost no time for those stealthy carnal indulgences that drive a relationship to less platonic heights. Royce had kissed me a total of 6 times, it was really rather appalling. This fact was also doubly disappointing not only did I lose my chance rebuff his advances, (when someone like a King approaches you so seldom it simply does not do to decline) but it also deprived me of the usual physical…attentions…that I usually inspired, physical attentions that I heartily enjoyed.

When he did kiss me however, it was quite an experience. Not a gentle peck or a tentative brushing of lips, when Royce kissed me he meant business. It was hard, and possessive, and many things I can't find the words to classify; every time he let me go after clasping me tightly to him I felt as if I had just run a race or something. Sometimes though, I felt the tiniest tug in the back of my brain; something small and insignificant told me that these kisses were not the same as those warm moments shared between Tom and Vera when they thought I wasn't looking. There was no laughter in these kisses. I couldn't help but think that Royce was just too dignified to indulge in such low class expressions of affection.

Anytime I went down this unnecessary path I just thought of the way that Royce really showed his interest: his showers of gifts. That was something Tom couldn't give Vera even if he wanted to, something above their social and economic threshold. It began, of course, with the flowers, which continued to arrive every day. After a little while I couldn't leave my home without smelling delightfully of roses. Things only got better from there. Before long I grew accustomed to Royce bringing little things when he came to pick me up, a decorative hairpin that he would place in my curls, or a little brooch he would pin to my collar. Slowly and steadily the presents got bigger and more beautiful, soon it was a hat, a jacket, even once a gown. It was extravagant to say the least, and though I knew the polite thing was to decline, I always hoped that Royce would insist I take the gifts. He always did. I was in raptures of delight. Every time I went to visit with Vera I made sure to wear something new and grand to show off; it made my pangs when I saw Tom and Gerald that much more manageable.

Besides his behavior towards me I picked up some other knowledge about Royce. He didn't like champagne, which I thought was comforting since it's so very distressing when one's escort gets a little to too far into their cups. Royce was also an immaculate dresser, knew his place and was proud to be there, was very conscious about his behavior in society, and was always trying to make new connections. He was polite and educated and the apple of his parents eye. He was all a girl could ask for in a husband.

That made it perfectly delightful when after about two months of wooing me Royce regally addressed me, "Rose, I spoke to your father today. I think that its time for you to become a true King. What do you think of a spring wedding?"

My response accompanied a genuine smile, completely unrehearsed and not premeditated, "Why Royce, that would be just perfect."

The rest of the day was spent in a utopian haze, though it may not have been romantic or demonstrative of total devotion, the proposal had finally come. In only two more months, and the last to months had shown how short a time that could be, I would be Mrs. Royce King Jr. I would have finally reached the station I had been groomed for, and it couldn't be long before I had my own fair-haired angels to look after in my sumptuous and well-run house.

A/N: Dearest readers, I am truly sorry for the long delay between updates, this chapter had me thoroughly muddled for a while. It had to be a bridge connecting two "eras" of sorts, but I also wanted it to show some things about Rose's thought processes entering the engagement, not to mention Royce's character. I hope that I succeeded. As always, please review, and as extra incentive I will now be responding to the reviews just to demonstrate my gratitude for the encouragement. Love, DD


	6. Agony

Author's note: Mixing it up, I figured I would start with the note this time. I think this is the chapter a lot of you have been waiting for; I know I have been waiting to write it. We have reached a turning point. Also I made a mistake, I just got access to my Eclipse book because I didn't have it with me at school, and I found out Vera's baby's name was actually Henry and I have him a bit older than he should be. Sorry about that, I feel like it would be useless to change it now, so I am going to continue having him be Gerald. A side note, has anyone read Ayn Rand? I just started The Fountainhead and it is absolutely inspiring, I highly recommend it, but that's besides the point now isn't it. Here goes nothing! PS. If you want me to continue review, review, review. Its always vastly appreciated and its what motivates me to keep this sucked going, Sorry for the length of this note, this is the end I promise.

After the abstract idea of a wedding was assured I set about making it concrete. The winter days seemed too short for me to get everything done, there were dress fittings, flowers to choose, cakes to sample. Everything was coming up roses for me, the best thing of all being that the King's had offered to finance the wedding. It was truly going to be everything I had ever wished for, people were going to stare in awe and envy as I married Royce King, the prince of Rochester.

After an absolutely grueling month and three quarters everything was almost ready. It was early March, only a week until the wedding. It was to take place on the King's verandah the next Wednesday evening, surrounded by roses and violets and Japanese lanterns. My bouquet was chosen to match. The dress, oh the dress, was a thing of glory. It was thick, fluid white satin overlaid with lace and pearls, and the sleeves were pure lace. The row of tiny buttons trailing down the back of the masterpiece emitted a type of soft glow. I had finally decided that salmon was the best food to serve at the reception, despite Mrs. King's preference for chicken. All of the wedding details were coming together.

Those were the thoughts that filled my head as I wandered down the street to Vera's cottage. I couldn't even be bothered to take much notice of the admiring glances directed my way; such was the extent of my glowing preoccupation. I carried a little envelope in my hand, and when Vera opened her door I extended it ceremonially, "I thought I should deliver this to you personally, since you _are_ my dearest friend, after all."

When she took the parchment square in her hand her eyes widened in anticipation and she tore the edge with a kind of reverence. The white ribbon on my wedding invitation bobbed happily as she extricated it.

"Oh my goodness, an invitation! Thank you Rose, I wasn't sure…"

Vera trailed off before she finished her thought, but I knew what she was saying. She hadn't been sure she would be invited to such a premier event. My tone was a little bit scolding as I ushered myself into her sitting room, "Now Vera, you are my very best friend. How could you possibly think I would not invite you to the most important event of my life! There was never any doubt of your invitation darling!"

She smiled in relief. The truth was that Vera had a point, had Royce not invited everyone that worked for him there was no way I could have invited a carpenter's wife. Even with all of the men from the bank and their wives coming I had had to struggle to get my mother to accept that I was inviting Vera. Finally I had to explain to her that there was no way Royce was calling off the wedding now and I could just about invite whoever I pleased, even a working woman, and I would surely invite my only real friend. Vera didn't need to know these details though, and I was happy to let the topic go and move onto the details of the wedding that I wanted her advice on, most importantly, how to wear my hair.

The visit proceeded happily after that. When we heard Gerald begin to stir from his nap Vera brought him into the room for me to coddle. The vision of my own babies with blue eyes and dimples was like an amulet, guarding me against pangs of longing. I no longer had anything to fear from Vera's happy little house, I could look upon it now with a detached benevolence.

Like so many times before, Tom's arrival home signaled that it was time to leave. We exchanged slightly stilted pleasantries, I can say that Tom is truly a very good man and perfect for Vera, but he is a carpenter after all, and I hugged Vera and Gerald goodbye. All three of them escorted me to the door, Vera snuggled into Tom's strong arm with Gerald safely hugged to her body. It was the picture of familial happiness, the picture of heaven. On their stoop I turned back to tell Vera that I would see her at the wedding if not before, but Tom was kissing her lightly on the cheek, almost nuzzling her. Before I could slam the vision of my beautiful, blonde, future family in front of my consciousness I had the tiniest qualm, Royce never looked at me the way Tom was looking at Vera, like I was the air he needed to breathe, the sun to sustain him. I hurried away without saying a word, concentrating on my prospects.

The streetlamps threw hazy puddles of light onto the sidewalk as I hurried down the street, it was later than I had thought. It was also very cold. I couldn't stop my thoughts from wandering back to the wedding arrangements that were ever present at the front of my mind. If the cold snap didn't let up we would have to move the wedding inside the King's house, losing the lovely effect of the lanterns. Since that would be perfectly wretched, I reeled off a little prayer that the weather would improve. Surely God would accommodate my one special day, I had never asked him for much.

It was the laughter that pulled me from my musings, the obviously drunken laughter. I was almost home, only a few streets away, but for a moment I wished I had called on my father to escort me home, but that would have been silly, the walk from Vera's took a less than a quarter of an hour. As I rounded the corner I saw the source of the raucous laughter. It was a small group of men reeling in the murky half-light under a broken streetlamp. I felt my lip curl with disgust at their public intoxication and squared my shoulders to sail disdainfully past them.

Then he called my name, "Rose!"

I turned slowly around, still in disbelief that Royce could possibly be in the group drunken men. My eyes took in what I had missed in my earlier indifference, all of the men wear impeccably dressed, though now their fine suits were rumpled and stained. My ears had not deceived me; it was truly Royce and his friends, other rich boys. It was funny, I thought, that that was the first time I had considered Royce a boy instead of a man, but he was acting so ridiculously unsophisticated.

As I took an uncertain step toward him, Royce continued to bellow, "Here's my Rose! You're late. We're cold, you've kept us waiting so long." His words were slurred together, all of his urbane diction lost. He sounded just like those terrible, cretinous men who took their paycheck straight to the nearest liquor hell. He grabbed my arm in a vice like grip and leered down at me, not at all in the way that a man looks at his beloved. He pulled me around and paraded me in front of a stranger like a prize heifer. I tried to twist away but he was just too strong.

"What did I tell you John? Isn't she lovelier than all your Georgia peaches?" Royce jeered, shoving me in front of the man so that I stumbled. He had never spoken of me in such an impolite tone before. John, a dark and cruel looking man, looked me up and down with a calculating expression, like I was some whore and he was trying to decide whether I was worth the price. His voice was calm venom when he drawled, "It's hard to tell, she's all covered up."

They all laughed, even Royce. They reminded me of jackals: hungry, drunken, jackals. Before I could flee the men had circled around me and Royce tore my jacket off from the shoulder, my beautiful gray brocade jacket that he had given me when the weather had turned cool. The brass buttons rolled helter-skelter down the street like scattering little beetles.

"Show him what you look like, Rose!" Royce sounded like a demon, totally devoid civilizing impulses. He clutched my jauntily tilted hat in one large hand and ripped it free of my head in one agonizing tug. When he tossed the hat aside it was trailing ghostly streamers of hair, still stuck to the pins. I thought I could feel blood oozing viscously on my scalp. The cry of pain that escaped my lips was sharp and piercing.

Something about that cry titillated the men for more than the forced removal of my jacket, the sound of my pain set them circling like sharks to blood.

Royce was the first to hit me. He slapped me hard across the cheek before smothering me with a suffocating, stifling kiss. I think I would have vomited had there been any place for it to go.

It did not take long for me to be huddled on the ground. I simply could not gain any equilibrium between all of the assaults. Fighting back was useless. When I finally got my nails on one of them it earned me nothing more than a terrible pain in my wrist on top of all of the other agonies.

I don't even know who truly violated me first, though I wouldn't be the tiniest bit surprised if it was Royce. All I knew for sure was that I was being torn apart from the inside, repeatedly and miserably. I think that's when I knew I was going to die. That first man was not the only one to take advantage of my prone body and my near unconsciousness. I didn't think it would ever end.

When someone pulled out a knife I was almost relieved, maybe now it would all end, maybe I would just fade into oblivion. But they didn't give me a good stab to finish things cleanly, just a few stinging slashes. After a few kicks in the ribs they finally started to button up and collect themselves, still laughing riotously. A hot fury burned slowly in my chest as I heard, through the ringing in my ears, someone good naturedly taunt Royce, "Guess you'll have to find a new wife then, King." Royce just snorted and clapped the man on the back, "Guess I'll have to learn some patience first, won't I, Johnson." It didn't take long for the anger to fizzle in the face of the unrelenting pain. When I couldn't hear their footsteps or their chuckles any longer I knew that I had been left to die alone on the icy pavement. I hadn't the strength to feel anything except relief that they were finally gone.

The cold ate at me like acid as I lay there like a shattered doll. There was not an inch of me that was not flooded with harrowing pain. For a second time that night I prayed to God, one simple line, "Dear God let it end." He wouldn't humor me. I dragged on through a cloud of suffering, lingering on the earth despite my simple plea. It seemed like an eternity that I lay there, being slowly sprinkled with sparkling flakes of pristine snow that turned a grotesque pink and then winked out of existence when they touched my torn body. Why would death not come for me, I asked myself miserably.

A/N: I know there was a not at the beginning so this one will be brief. Sorry this chapter is so long, not to mention so dark, but there was a lot of torment to cover. Next chapter opens with Carlisle finding her, so don't get to down. Please review; I have concerns about this chapter. Love you guys! DD


	7. Metamorphosis

A/N: Sorry for the terribly long wait for an update, back to school means longer delays. Thanks to the few of you who did review, you guys are great; but besides those faithfuls it was a pretty poor showing, do me a favor and step it up? Anyways, here's a new chapter for your reading enjoyment.

I didn't know when my eyes had drifted closed of their own accord; I didn't even realize I was conscious until they snapped open.

"Oh, God." The voice was very soft, tempered with the delicate edge that only compassion can provide. When I dragged my weary gaze towards the voice I saw, of all people, Dr. Carlisle Cullen. I had finally seen the Cullen clan on my way to a dinner party about a month ago (they were impossible to miss), and I knew it was he. It really stuck in my craw to admit it, but Vera had been right. All three of them were beautiful, and that was the only word for it, even the men. I couldn't help but despise them for it. I was supposed to be the most beautiful. It was my only role, and it should not to be taken from me by some anti-social misfits.

I would like to say it was pain-induced delirium that routed my brain onto that particular track instead of the infinitely more pertinent fact that it was _Doctor_ Cullen, but I really can't be sure. It might have simply been the way my mind worked. The doctor part only hit me when he began working over me, igniting new flares of pain. I tried to tell him just to leave me alone, just to let me die, but I couldn't force the fatal words from my aching throat. My eyes closed again, yielding.

And then I was flying. I knew the end had come, flying was not a part of rational existence; it had to come afterward. The only unsettling thing was the pain had not subsided. It was not even the slightest bit better. I was flying, but not floating. Cold still seeped through my tattered garments, and every nerve ending had reawakened to scream its terrible alarm, banishing the dawning numbness that had crept in as I lay on the frozen pavement.

The next thing I knew, I was surrounded by soft warmth and I was no longer in motion. For a brief moment I thought maybe I had reached my post-mortem destination, though the pain still plagued me, but then I cracked my eyes open. Overwhelming brightness stabbed at them viciously, and there was Dr. Cullen hovering over me with a worried expression. Heaven this was not, but maybe, just maybe Dr. Cullen would save me. Not that I wanted him to. I tried to smile at him, to communicate that it was all right just to let me go, but the effort faltered before it really started.

My neck, my wrists, my ankles were being slashed with something incredibly sharp, something that cut through the skin as easily as someone shredding a flower petal in deft fingers. I had thought he was trying to help me but he had brought me here only to torture me more! And all I could do was lie there and writhe in agony as the fires of hell burned through my limbs. I could only lie there and scream.

The screams clawed their way free of my throat in a way that words had not, and for a while the screams and the fire were the only things in the universe, the only things that had ever existed or would ever exist. My eyes stayed glued shut, screwed up without effort. In the beginning I writhed like some infernal wraith. There was no time, no space. There was only pain, a pain much worse that what I had formerly determined was all I could endure, and screaming.

I don't know how long I was in that state, lost to the torturous agony, but eventually I wrenched my eyes open with an effort I didn't think I was going to manage. My senses, besides the basic capacity to feel, were reawakening, and could see him, Dr. Cullen, the man who had done this to me for no reason at all. He sat nearby, with an incongruous expression of distress on his divinely lovely face. It was almost as if he were the one suffering, but maybe he was just tired of hearing me scream. My outrage at his assumption, his pretension, could not compete with the fiery pain. It was quickly burned out and forgotten. One thought remained, and with the strain of Atlas I curved the agonized wailing into barely distinguishable words.

"KILL ME, PLEASE, JUST KILL ME!"

It became a mantra, every time the words came out they got easier and the space between them got smaller. When the other two Cullens entered the room I redirected my pleas, begging them for all I was worth. The woman left quickly, but the younger man stood for a while next to Dr. Cullen, impassive. After a while, he too left. Only Dr. Cullen remained.

The next faculty that returned to me was my hearing. I had given up the screaming, it didn't help anyway, and I began to distinguish some of the words pouring from Dr. Cullen's mouth as he stood by my table.

"I am so very sorry….so sorry…it will all be over soon…couldn't just let you die…it was senseless for you to die like that, terrible…."

Those were the words that penetrated my consciousness first, the ones he repeated like a lifeline, the ones that matched his anguished expression. I was confused, if he was so damned sorry why had he brought me here to torture and kill me? It made no sense. At least it made no sense until he incorporated other words into his continuous monologue.

"This will be hard for you to accept I'm sure…unbelievable….unreal…but we, Esme, Edward, and I, are vampires…not what you've always heard about in urban legends…we are very conscientious about not feeding on humans….soon you will be one of us…couldn't just let you die…."

He repeated the explanation many times, which was good since I felt like I was listening to a poorly tuned radio; his voice, mellifluous and melodic, faded in and out continuously. I finally pieced together all that he was saying, only to be left in reeling disbelief. Vampires? Honestly. By then the pain had become an omnipresent and agonized background noise.

Eventually Dr. Cullen walked away from me, my eyes followed him to see him go talk to Edward and Esme, the younger vampires, were I to be believe the story. I could hear their words.

"What were you thinking, Carlisle? Rosalie Hale?" asked Edward. His voice dripped contempt and disapproval, as if I were some slug Carlisle had picked up off the street. What was his problem? I was Rosalie Hale, yes, but that was something to be proud of, not something degrading. A feeling spread through me, a slow burn, I hated Edward and his smug assurance that I was unworthy.

When Carlisle responded his voice was weary, "I couldn't just let her die. It was too much—too horrible, to much waste."

"I know," said Edward, and for some reason the words sounded like they were meant to pacify a small child.

"It was too much waste," Carlisle repeated, "I couldn't leave her."

Esme patted his arm comfortingly. "Of course you couldn't." She didn't say dear, but for some reason I imagined the word hanging onto the end of the sentence.

When Edward spoke again he slew the solace that Esme had offered. "People die all the time." It was a very callous way to state an obvious truth. "Don't you think she's just a little bit recognizable though? The Kings will have to put up a huge search—not that anyone suspects the fiend." Just when I was beginning to think that that horrible Edward had no redeeming qualities, he injected his voice with such venom when he spoke of Royce that I couldn't completely hate him. At least they all seemed to know that he was the one who had put me in such a terrible state.

"What are we going to do with her?" Edward continued, like I was an inanimate object that had to be properly disposed of.

Carlisle sighed. "That's up to her of course. She may want to go her own way."

That one sentence was enough to double my pain through a bubble of panic. Alone? It was farfetched, but Carlisle's explanation was the only one that could possibly explain my current position. I was going to be a vampire, unable to go home or see anyone I knew, how could they think I would want to start wandering the planet in solitude? Any company was better than none, anyone to explain my new life. I was stuck with these people.

When the pain finally dwindled to nothing, sucking its way into one pinpoint of blinding pain before it evaporated, I knew Carlisle's story had been true. I felt a searing thirst in my throat, a thirst for blood. I was filled with a strength that seemed boundless. When they presented me with a mirror I saw my unearthly beauty, and last of all, my blood red eyes staring back at me. I was a vampire.


	8. Stage 1

After formally introducing me around, which I thought was kind of absurd, and repeating the whole vampire explanation, Carlisle asked me a question. "Do you want to stay in Rochester for a while? You won't be able to see anyone because it would lead to them finding out what you have become, and if that is too painful for you then we would be glad to consider relocating."

It took me less than a fraction of a second to think through all of my desires and all of my options. My new vampire brain was unbelievably efficient. "I think I would like to stay, even if I can't see anyone. It's still home. Would that be all right?" I answered humbly. Carlisle started nodding gently before I even finished my request; he was really almost too nice. The flare of triumph in my brain was my first positive emotion in some time. I really couldn't care less about Rochester, all I could remember of it were those last moments on that frozen street, I just wanted to get rid of the metallic taste lurking in the back of my mouth, the taste that had nothing to do with my new diet. It was the taste of pure rage, the thirst for revenge.

To my left I heard Edward speak, his voice unbearably smug, "That's not why…" He abruptly snapped his mouth shut; I could practically hear his teeth click. I had forgotten his ridiculous mind-reading capabilities! Thank god he seemed like he was going to keep his fat mouth shut, though I didn't know why he didn't just go ahead and tattle on me. That seemed like the kind of thing he would do. If he had though, it would have given me a good excuse to personally wipe that smarmy smile right off his stupid face with my newfound strength. As that thought fermented in my head his smile only got wider. This kid was beginning to really irritate me.

For the next week, I had two of them with me at all times. I don't know what they thought I was going to do, but apparently they thought I needed constant chaperoning. After that I had a period of time where only one of them shadowed my every move; apparently my good behavior had convinced them that I wasn't going to explode, go on a killing spree, or anything equally terrible. They taught me how to hunt, how to move around humans without them even noticing, how to act alive when that was more convenient. It was funny, after that terrible night I had been determined to hate these people for the rest of my limitless existence for what they had done to me; but the more time I spent around Carlisle and Esme the more I liked, and even admired, them. Carlisle was the most compassionate person I had ever met, and it was evident in his every action. Every single night that he went in to work at the hospital he overcame his inherent thirst for blood to save innocent people's life. It was astounding. Esme was simply a mother. Not technically of course, but she accepted me and cared for me in a selfless way that my own mother never had. They were not at all what I would have expected of a clan of vampires. Once I heard Edward say something about "Stockholm Syndrome" to Carlisle, but I didn't know what that was so I couldn't really determine whether he was making fun of me.

The entire time that I was essentially being held hostage I thought about my plan, at least the whole time when I wasn't around Edward. He might already know the rough outline of my intentions, but I was certainly not going to voluntarily offer up the details, he might change his mind about telling on me. When I was around him, I made sure to think of other things.

When they finally allowed me to creep through the night deadened streets of Rochester unattended the plan was pretty much fully formulated. Five men had raped and essentially killed me, and they all needed to be punished for their crime, Royce most of all. And I was going to save him for sweet, sweet last.

The first order of business was to find out who the others had been, what with my new capabilities it wasn't hard. It only took two nights of perfect restraint to tail Royce to a bar where he met up with the same five boys, even down to John from Atlanta. Every step when Royce was in lunging range was pure hell. I think that helped prepare me for the next parts of the execution.

I never even found out the names of the first three men that I killed, they were active participants on that fateful night and that was all I needed to know. I caught each of them as they left some drinking hell, drunk and vulnerable, though now anyone was vulnerable to me. The hardest part was ignoring the aching thirst, the sound of their wet, thudding hearts. The easiest part was the twist of my wrist. Three different nights, three mysteriously broken necks, no way for anyone to tell how it had happened.

I waited for a proper amount of time to pass before moving on to John. The way I figured it, he was more responsible than the other three. I got him on a deserted street on his way to the train station to go home. He was on his way to what he wanted, just as I had been. Just like I had been, he had been rerouted. John got a little more than just a simple broken neck. My control was improving.

A/N: Once again, sorry for the really long wait. This chapter was difficult and I apologize for the crap factor that I couldn't totally eliminate. As I'm sure you know, revenge on Royce is coming up next, but I really need some reviews before I sit down to that undertaking. Thanks so much for reading, please review! Love, DD


	9. Vengeance

I left one special token with John's lifeless body, a single rose left lying on his chest. Chances were that Royce would see the body either to identify it or pay some kind of respects (though of course respects from Royce were totally useless), and I wanted him to know what was happening. I had completed my preliminary chores, and sure, they had been satisfying, but now it was time to really get down to business. The rose was just the beginning a complex plan; Royce was going to simmer in a stew of anxiety and agony before I was finished with him.

For a while I did absolutely nothing, well, nothing concrete anyway. I bided my time, walking around Carlisle's house humming to myself, avoiding Edward whenever possible, helping Esme with the tasks she fabricated to keep herself busy and happy. And I thought about how glad I would be when Royce got what was coming to him. And just how he would get what was coming to him. Sometimes I followed him at a distance just to make sure he was still looking jumpy and sleep-deprived, but that was highly taxing for my self-control. In a way I craved the excitement, the jolt to my system, I was preparing myself for bigger and better things.

Every week or so I would leave him another single rose, just because it irked me to see him get complacent. Each flower was carefully placed in a different spot, maybe on his windowsill, in his office, or in his car; the possibilities were endless really. The point was that he not feel safe anywhere, that he be perpetually looking over his shoulder. Soon he was constantly twitching like a nervous rodent, his eyes darting into corners and behind doorways. His skin had turned an ashen shade that did nothing for his fair coloring. I was elated.

After seeing those effects I was ready to move on to the slightly more dangerous phase two of the plan. I had to be extremely careful, but it was worth it to see his reactions. Now instead of just leaving a rose to mark my "visits", I dressed all in black with a hat pulled down low over my scarlet irises and began ghosting around behind him, purposefully allowing myself to be seen ever so briefly every once in a while. Even in my disguise, and I would definitely qualify it as a disguise since had anyone hired by the Kings to search for me recognized me then the game would have been up, the sight of a blonde woman who resembled me seemed to cause Royce plenty of distress. Soon he was walking around with an armed bodyguard. I decided that it was time for me to finish up, even though I was loath to end my twisted joy.

Looking back I see that I was indulging my theatrical side, but after some careful window-shopping I swiped a pristine bridal gown out of the display of a well-off bridal shop. I figured that was less cruel than stealing it from some unassuming bride waiting to be shackled. I made a promise to myself that when I finished with Royce the dress would still be the same spotless, lurid white.

I found him in his office, despite the late hour. I also found two armed guards outside a door as thick as a very old oak tree. All three obstacles were easily dispatched. I took particular pleasure in ripping the slab of wood off its hinges, penetrating Royce's last defense.

The gown swirled around me as I swept through the cleared entryway, careful that every movement could be tracked by Royce's weak human eyes. I had a fleeting wish that there could be either a wedding march or a dirge playing in the background, but pushed that thought out of my head as impossible and continued my advance.

A cry of vicious delight surged up from my silent heart when I saw Royce huddled like a child behind his desk, a look of biblical terror upon his face. At first he did nothing at all, simply sat, curled in upon himself, literally rooted to the spot. Then he came to his senses and started desperately fumbling in his desk drawer. I considered dodging the bullet from the large revolver he extracted, maybe even letting it graze off my marble skin to demonstrate my invulnerability, but concluded that the easiest thing was also the best. In the space of a second I was in front of the desk with the crushed pistol in my fingers. I think it was at that point that Royce knew it was over, that his day of judgment had come. He barely even struggled, or perhaps he did and it was just too weak for me to take notice.

I took my time with Royce, relishing every moment like a dog sucking the last traces of marrow from a bone. Every snap, every crack, was a victory. Even the terrible, throbbing thirst for Royce's blood became inconsequential as my appetite for vengeance was sated at last.

I was careful, not a drop of his blood was spilled. It didn't need to be.

The best part was hearing him beg, and then hearing him stop.

A/N: Ok, so that was kind of an angst-ridden chapter. It was unavoidable I assure you. It was also kind of short, but hopefully emotionally charged enough to satisfy you guys. Review and let me know? Anywho, I would like to dedicate this both to all of you oh so lovely reviewers, and to a friend of mine who told me that I was like Rose and in a way inspired me to write this fic. To that person: I still say you're wrong and I'm terribly offended, but thanks anyways. Please review, it shows me you enjoyed the chapter. Much love- DD.


	10. Moving

Two days later we left Rochester behind. I was never really sure whether we left to avoid the extensive investigation revolving around Royce's unusual murder, or simply because the Cullens knew that I had done what I needed to do. I didn't feel compelled to ask. Anyway, we quickly removed ourselves from Rochester to the small town of Goderich, across the Canadian Border. It was supposed to be a lovely, quaint little town that would be a joy to inhabit. Really it was pretty much a whistle-stop in middle of nowhere Canada. The only good thing about it was the frequency of inclement weather.

To be perfectly honest I might be exaggerating Goderich's unpleasantness. The tourists who occasionally came by certainly seemed to like it, and I suppose it did have some pretty panoramic views, but when I look back on it I certainly don't see it as an idyllic little hamlet, I think my memory reflects my mood at the time. The truth is that after I finished scheming, planning, and executing my revenge, I was bored.

Actually, it was more than that. Not only was I bored, but I had gone from being engaged, to being a rape victim left for dead, to being _un_dead, to being a murderess in an alarmingly short period of time. It was enough to make a girl's head spin. Having Vera to talk to would have made things better, but in addition to everything else, I had lost my best friend forever. Carlisle had also explained to me that I had lost my chance at my one dream, babies. After a few days looking at picturesque scenery and dwelling on my problems, I was wallowing in loneliness.

I knew my options for new friends outside of the vampire lifestyle were pretty much zero, so I decided to try to bond with my new family. I tried harder to connect with them, made sure to make polite conversation, even went so far as to find out things by observing them. I was surprised by how much I found out. First of all, Carlisle truly loved his job; he loved saving people more than almost anything else. The only thing he loved more than giving someone a second chance at life was Esme. Sweet, sedate, organized Esme was the light if his life, the link between them was almost tangible. It made me realize what I had been missing with Royce and rekindled a dull ache in my chest. Watching them reminded me that all I had ever wanted was a love like that, and of course some darling little babies to match. That longing was wedged firmly in my brain, and every time I saw Esme and Carlisle with their gooey-eyed glances I endured a wave of bitterness. I was in utter despair until I realized I did have one ray of hope.

Carlisle had explained to me soon after he had changed me that there were others of our kind roaming the earth, but that we would seldom see them and that hardly any of them adhered to our way of life. That meant that if I wanted to find my special someone it either had to be someone within out little coven, or a human. Since there was not even the slimmest of chances that I was ever going to do to someone what had been done to me, I pretty much only had one viable option. Carlisle and Esme were charmingly paired up, why couldn't Edward and I be the same way? I had found a new focus; I had Edward in my sights.

I hate to say it, but until then I had kind of let my appearance slip. I had been just tossing my hair into a disgustingly simple chignon every morning, and even worse I was just wearing what was warm and convenient. When my mission woke me up from my self-pity my self-appraisal left me appalled.

The very next day, pleading boredom (only half a lie), I got Esme to take me shopping. Carlisle had tactfully explained that due to his lifetimes as a doctor we were financially pretty well off, so I felt no qualms about buying a few pretty things.

My new wardrobe was all feminine flounces and delightful details, real quality stuff. I even got new undergarments that I felt gave me a sort seductive glow. Esme was the perfect companion, oo-ing and ah-ing at the best outfits with a type of maternal pleasure that my own mother would never have dared display. She would have said it was low class to be so openly warm. I was beyond class these days, and I decided that I quite liked having affection lavished on me.

The next morning I left my room tucked into a lovely suit that was snug in all the right places and a halo of golden curls. When I passed the mirror I had to stifle a gasp at my sheer gorgeousness, the one good thing about being a vampire was it had made me even lovelier than when I was human. I was prepared.

I heard Edward before I saw him. He was at the piano, as he often was. I walked into the parlor and leaned against the doorjamb, pausing just to listen for a moment. He was playing a tune I didn't recognize, something with soaring notes and somber chords tied harmoniously together; it was stunning. I had been practicing the piano since my hands were big enough to navigate the keys, but I had never played anything like what was coming from the piano at that moment. Briefly I felt a sharp stab of envy, but the music was too enchanting for the jealousy to sustain itself.

Edward must have known that I was there, because he drew the song to a close and turned around. "Good morning," he said courteously. I was puzzled, because either he was a very good actor or he really didn't notice or care about how lovely I looked. "Good morning, isn't it a beautiful day?" I replied, adding the slightest emphasis to the word beautiful.

"Oh, I wouldn't have thought you'd been outside this morning," he said, all wide-eyed innocence. I tried to maintain my smile and not dwell on the fact that I really hadn't been outside; I certainly didn't want to flash the thought for him to hear at his leisure. Apparently I didn't succeed at my attempted suppression.

"I thought not," he said smugly, turning back to the piano. Before he started playing he said one more thing, "by the way, it's sleeting outside."

I was in for a much greater struggle than I had anticipated.

A/N: Good lord it's been a long time! I really do apologize, it's just that I was kind of in a creative rut and got really busy so the story got left by the wayside for a while. I also apologize that this chapter is kind of craptastic, I'm at a weird lull in Rose's story, but I love Edward too much not to give him some screen-time. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed the chapter; it was an epic struggle to crank out. Please review, it galvanizes me to update faster! Thanks for reading! --DD


	11. Rejection

After that I knew that I had to start trying harder, harder than I ever had before. I shed outfits like dogs shed fur when I saw they weren't working. I tried showing more skin, but Edward just offered me his jacket in a gentlemanly fashion that would have made my cheeks stain red with rage if that were possible. It's not as if I even needed a jacket, what with my new subzero body temperature; he was just being an ass. I had to flee the room before I words of rage started spewing from my rosy lips. I didn't help that I could have sworn I heard him chuckle as I raced around the corner at inhuman speed. I shredded a lovely little hat into millions of pieces when I got back to my room.

After that defeat I turned to more subtle ploys. First I tried to show him that we had similar interests, some men like stuff like that. He played the piano. I played the piano. That had to mean something right? So I began artfully arranging myself on the piano bench whenever I had a chance, working on my sonatas and nocturnes, practicing willingly for the first time in as long as I could remember.

On and off for three days I sat at that piano to no avail. Esme would sometimes sit and listen, sometimes offering small compliments on my improvements, but Edward seemed to be skirting the sitting room completely. I was about to give up and find more constructive uses for my ample amounts of free time when I finally saw a glimmer of hope.

The fourth day Edward quietly walked into the room and stood listening for a moment just as I had almost a week before. I watched him out of the corner of my eye for a moment, but continued playing as if he wasn't there. Unfortunately, it wasn't long before he wasn't. It wasn't much, but that interlude was enough to renew my motivation.

The next day when he came into the room, Edward didn't just stand there. When I paused between pieces he asked, "Would you mind playing a duet?" I looked up at him through lowered lashes (to hide my satisfaction) as I scooted over a tiny bit on the bench. "That would be lovely," I simpered.

I waited for a moment as Edward retrieved some sheet music, glad that I was being rewarded for my hard work and plotting but trying not to think too hard about it. Attempting to entice someone that could read minds was turning out to be far harder than I had anticipated. I didn't feel the stirring of unease until I saw the music that placed in front of me as he sat down. It was an extremely complicated Liszt piece that I had never seen before in my life. I knew that my plan was rapidly unraveling when we started to play.

It was all that I could do, even with my new vampiric abilities, to keep up with the music. Had I not had such superb reflexes I am sure my fingers would have been in knots within moments. The best I can say for my end of the duet is that it was passable, which is more than should have been expected from anyone on her first perusal.

Edward, on the other hand, weaved new melodies in between the extant notes that made my playing seem rudimentary. His fingers moved further and further up the keys until he had taken over both of our parts and I was left wondering what to do with myself since whenever I tried to hit a note his fingers were already there. After a moment of listening to the exquisite music I found myself once again leaving the room in a huff to avoid his not so subtle implications of my inferiority. I shrieked into my pillow when I got safely to my room, but at least I didn't destroy anything that time. I was soon scheming once again; I was nothing if not determined to win Edward over. After all, if I couldn't do it, then nobody could.

After that disgustingly humbling experience I decided that I needed to completely revise my tactics. I thought that maybe Edward was not so civilized as he seemed, perhaps he preferred his women a little bit on the wilder side. The next time I felt the familiar burn in my throat intensify I asked Edward if he wanted to go for a hunt. He agreed.

As we sprinted through the forest in search of prey, the familiar bloodlust seeping through our veins, he quickly got ahead despite my efforts to keep up. At first I was dismayed, but then I realized that this gave me a great opportunity. I could follow him and make sure he was nearby when I made my kill. I could ensure that he would able to see my consummate grace when I brought down a buck or a moose and hopefully to admire it.

Things did not go as planned however, when I did come across the throbbing heartbeat of an exceptional moose, Edward was nowhere in sight. I had underestimated my thirst, and as soon as I smelled blood I sprang into action, the noble animal was dead before it knew what hit it. I was just polishing off my meal when Edward reappeared. I looked up at him, dripping blood all over my soft sweater, hair all awry, only to see that he looked pristine, not a drop of mess on him or a hair any more out of place than usual.

He looked at me with an eyebrow cocked for a moment before saying sardonically, "I think you could use a napkin, Rosalie." Then he continued on his merry way. I had been thwarted and humiliated once again.

When I got back to the house I sat down at our misnamed dining table to try to find another angle of attack. I couldn't, I was out of ideas. Instead I just sat there and wallowed in my own feelings of hurt and inadequacy.

To my horror, it was not long before Edward slunk into the room. "Go away." I muttered. Not for the first time I wished he wasn't privy to all the thoughts roiling around in my head.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I can't help it." I glared at him for answering my thoughts and focused all my mental faculties on wishing he would go away. There's no way that he didn't hear me, but he sat down at the table anyway.

"Listen. Rosalie, you are a gorgeous girl and if I were anyone else I'm sure I would be completely entranced by you, but I'm just not interested. So please stop pursuing me and maybe we can avoid any further embarrassment for either of us."

For a moment I just stared at him. Then I spat, " Don't flatter yourself, I wasn't pursuing you, I was just trying to be a good sister." We both knew it was a lie, but thankfully he kept his stupid know-it-all mouth shut, because if he hadn't I think it might have come to blows. I walked out of the room very much on my dignity.

I took almost a year of serious sulking for me to admit to myself that I hadn't ever been attracted to Edward, hadn't even really liked him as a matter of fact. I was just mad because he was the first person to treat me to the sting of rejection.

I still don't look back on our stay in Goderich fondly.

A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed last chapter, you guys are the best! Ok, so I am not sure how this chapter will be received, but I do know one thing, it was super fun to write. Please review and give me some feedback, because this is certainly extremely different from earlier chapters when Rose was massacring people and such. Also, reviewing will expedite an update, and more likely than not Emmett comes in the next chapter!! Thanks again for reading! --DD


	12. Lost

We stayed in Goderich for a little over two years, and while I'm not one hundred percent sure that we left because of my constant complaining, I have a pretty good idea that that was at least a contributing factor. We went further than on our last move, all the way into southern half of the Appalachian Mountains, more specifically, Roan Mountain, North Carolina. It may very well be my favorite place we've ever gone. It was there that I found what I had given up looking for.

Oh, and North Carolina is in bobcat territory.

I was out hunting when everything changed. Usually bobcat is my favorite fare, their blood has a real kick to it, but that day I was after something bigger, maybe something like a bear. Since bears are not exactly a dime a dozen, I had gone all the way across the state line into Tennessee, and I was alone. It was funny; it seemed like since I had changed I was alone more than I ever had been in my real life. I didn't even really notice much after a while, just felt a kind of dislocation that no vampire foster family could fix.

As I was pondering what I now know was loneliness, a smell so enticing it was almost a physical force hit me like a speeding train. My feet turned of their own accord and I went sprinting towards that divinely inspired scent. It was something I had never smelled before, not really, something that I knew only from my darkest, most primal urgings. That smell that dragged me on like a hand in my chest was the ultimate forbidden fruit, freshly spilled human blood. As I got closer, automatically dodging trees and undergrowth, I distractedly noticed that there was more than just human blood ahead, two large hearts were thumping and sending blood through large bodies. One was the human, but hiding beneath that scent was a hot earthy odor that I knew meant bear.

As soon as my vision was unobstructed I saw the exact tableau that I had already constructed in my mind by smell, a human man being purposefully mauled by a black bear. I burst into the clearing planning to kill the bear first, then, if I could possibly muster the self-control (which I doubted) I would save the human for dessert. No thoughts of trying to resist that siren smell even entered my mind, from the sheer force of the smell I thought he or she was as good as dead already.

In a fraction of the blink of an eye I was airborne. My shoulder caught the bear with a satisfying thump just as anticipated, but then something extraordinary happened. As I floated over the man all of that glowingly red blood drew my gaze, but that's not what held it. As I looked at that man's face I had a priceless, perfect memory from my life. Something about his dark curly hair and his dimples, visible even as he was wracked with pain, brought a crystallized image of Vera's little Henry to my mind so strongly that I could have sworn I was actually back in Rochester. The bear's claws screeched as they raked across my skin and, trance-like, I reached out and snapped its neck. I was transfixed by my recollection.

The blood still beat at my control like waves against a damn, but deep down I knew I could not kill this man, I could not savage this grown little boy. I was going to have to save him the only way I knew how. First I glutted myself on the bear's blood, trying to dull my thirst. Then I stopped breathing. I scooped him up in my arms and was already running by the time I cradled his broken body against my own. None of my safeguards helped, my every nerve was singing with desire. I wanted nothing more than to bite, to taste. I couldn't take it; my head was dropping closer and closer to the wellspring of blood.

But then he opened his eyes. They looked up at me, blue and awestruck, as he mouthed something. For a moment no sound escaped him but for a feeble moan, but then I made out one single word, "Angel…" before he slid back into blessed unconsciousness.

And with that one word he rewove his destiny. Somehow, after what seemed to be an eternity of temptation, I made it back to Carlisle so that he would do what I couldn't.

**A/N: **So after months and months, a surprise update! Hooray! And Rose has finally encountered Emmett, so double hooray! Please review if you liked it or even if you didn't. Oh, and if you are feeling SUPER nice please please please check out my Harry Potter fic called "Golden Girl", it is lonely and review-less and I actually like it more than "Skin Deep". So yeah, please review and I will try to update soon. Cheers!


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